The Wild Hunt
by apprentice wordsmith
Summary: Jane denies it when Rochester accuses her of being a spirit from another world. But she doesn't deny the existence of such spirits. Why? Because she's seen them before. Set during Jane's first terrible year at Lowood.


A/N: I always read Jane's "The men in green all forsook England a hundred years ago," as her way of telling Rochester to stop pulling her leg. She was being sarcastic in an effort to get him to stop teasing her. The exchange inspired the following one-shot.

oOoOo

The Wild Hunt

I shall never forget that day. It was the second day of February, and we were returning from church, bundled up against the icy fog that lay over the road and looking forward to the relative comfort of Lowood. It was a place of cold and starvation and horrific deprivation, but at least the wind didn't blow through the corridors and I might be able to sit and rest my poor abused feet. Sometimes the teachers forgot that a ten year old child cannot walk as fast as they, and I often fell a little behind the others.

It was evening by the time Mr. Brocklehurst finished his interminable sermon and, as was common on those short days, night came on as we were walking home. The darkness came on slowly, its slow creeping appearance softened by the fog. We walked along huddled against the cold, silently enduring what could not be changed. I thought I was directly behind the others, watching the white cap and grey dress of the girl in front of me as a guide.

But fog can play tricks on the eyes of mortals, and when I next blinked and looked about, my fellow inmates were nowhere within my sight. Even then, I wasn't afraid. I could see the road beneath my feet, and surely the others were only a short distance ahead. I resolved to go on at a steady pace, knowing that I would catch up to them. And even if I didn't, Lowood was the only house on the road, and I would come to it sooner or later.

So I walked on, white fog blanketing the valley and making all sounds seem distant. Even the patter of my shoes on the gravel was hushed and dim.

But the howl of a hound was clear and loud, as if the beast was only a few yards away. I started with fear and surprise, but the hound's next bark was softer, and the next softer than that, as though it was moving away from me. I gathered whatever courage I had and continued on.

I had only gone fifty paces or so when there was the thunder of hooves behind me. Thinking it was a lost traveler, I turned to the sound, preparing to leap to the side if they didn't see me. But I did think it was strange that I'd heard no sound of jingling harness or the clatter of a carriage.

Because there was no carriage. Instead I saw perhaps fifty white horses with red saddles and bridles, and their riders all dressed in green. I stood stark mute, watching them canter up the road toward me, parting the fog before them. I couldn't move even if I wanted to; I was transfixed by the sight of such beauty. The horses were lovely of course- what child isn't fascinated by a graceful horse?- but the riders were a wonder.

Men and women, most dark-haired and all with clever faces and merry smiles. In my fanciful imagination, I might have expected them to carry swords, like a band of long-forgotten knights, but they were unarmed. The foremost carried a horn bound with copper, and I wondered why he did not use it to announce the company's passing.

The fog made everything dim, but I saw that the horses were shod not with steel, but something else. Silver, perhaps? It gleamed too brightly to be iron, reminding me of the tableware at Gateshead. The stirrups were of the same metal. There was no iron to be seen, not even on the horses' bridles.

They stopped when they were but ten paces away from me. I opened my mouth to greet them, having never seen such a sight before, when an enormous white hound with red ears bounded up to me and sniffed at my hand. I was frozen to the spot, never before having been so close to a dog in my short life.

In a moment, I was surrounded by a pack of identical hounds. I shrank back, hoping they wouldn't eat me, but they only wanted to sniff me and lick my hands. When each one had greeted me, they retreated to stand by the horses and, despite my terror, I smiled when each horse dipped its head to nuzzle the hound by its feet.

The leader spurred his horse forward and I took a step back, all amusement gone. The horse was enormous; it could trample me without noticing. It stopped so close that I could have stroked its pink muzzle, if only I had the courage.

"A little human girl," the man pronounced. Up close, his smile made me think of the picture I'd once seen of a wolf.

A shiver ran down my spine. "Yes, sir," I said, because I had learned to speak when I was spoken to. "I am a human girl. But what are you?"

"We are the hunters," he said, his clever eyes brightening as he said it. "This night is good for hunting and we ride until we capture our quarry. But little human girls should know better than to stray onto the hunters' road on this night. Will you ride with us? Shall we take you away from this place?"

My heart leaped at the thought of leaving Lowood forever. But I was frightened of the hounds, of the way the white horses and red-eared hounds hemmed me in, of these beautiful hunters. I'd never seen anything so beautiful and terrible in my life. If the hunters had been ugly, I might have gone with them, simply because that was familiar and therefore less frightening. But neither were these creatures soft and gentle spirits, rather, they had the perfect faces and ruthless eyes of avenging angels. I had unknowingly taken to heart too much of Mrs. Reed's insistence that I was ugly and sinful, heard too many of Mr. Brocklehurst's sermons of hellfire and damnation, and had too little experience of fiercely loving hearts such as belonged to Miss Temple. I had learned to fear beautiful and merry things. "No, you should leave me where I am," I said with as much courage as I could muster. "I'm but a little girl, as you said, and I have no way of amusing you. And I'm very plain; you would not want me to mar the loveliness of your company. You should find someone else, a prettier child that you could look upon and be pleased with." By this time, I was hardly aware of what I was saying. I only wanted these beautiful huntsmen with their huge horses and white hounds to leave me be.

"Well answered," the huntsman said gallantly. "Shall I give you a gift, little girl, as a reward for your wit?"

I nearly said 'yes', but a voice sounded in my head, a man's voice, low and firm and gentle. _Beware the leader of the wild hunt, my child. He may call his offering a gift, but you would call it a curse._ It was not a voice I could disobey, though I had never heard it before. "No, thank you, sir," I said respectfully, though I gasped with fright when his horse stamped its hoof impatiently.

"Are you certain?" he asked, still smiling fiercely. "Has the world changed so much that little girls dislike gifts?"

"No, thank you," I repeated. "I don't take gifts from strangers."

He laughed, and the others laughed with him. The horses neighed and the hounds gave little coughing barks, as if I'd said something tremendously funny. "A stranger, am I?" the man said. "Be careful, Jane Eyre, or you may learn exactly how strange I am!" I had no response and, anyway, before I could have said anything, he blew a long, haunting call on his horn. It wasn't loud, but the sound rolled through the fog, echoing eerily about us. "Ride on, hunters!" he cried, and the entire company leaped forward, galloping around me like the Red Sea parted before Moses. I feared I would be trampled, but not a hoof or paw touched me.

I stood in the middle of the road, watching the hunters disappear into the thickening fog and for a long time after, until Miss Temple's voice rang out. "Jane! There you are!"

"Miss Temple!" I exclaimed, running to her in my relief and loving the golden light of the lantern in her hand.

"Where were you, Jane? We were so worried when you didn't return with the others."

"I'm sorry, I tried to keep up, but I can't walk as fast as the other girls. I must have fallen behind," I tried to explain, wanting to tell Miss Temple about the hunters. If anyone knew about them, she did. "I saw the most amazing thing," I began, then stopped. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, even though Miss Temple gently asked me what was the matter. All I could do was look at the road in disbelief. "Never mind. It was nothing," I finally said.

Because there were no hoof prints, not even on the soft edge of the road. I shivered and allowed Miss Temple to hurry me along, back to Lowood and its staid, earthbound sameness.

Three days later, Lowood lost one of its older inmates, a pretty girl I'd never spoken to before. I learned later that she was called Maria. All was confusion the morning when the teachers discovered her bed to be empty. Miss Temple suspected she'd met a young man at church despite the teachers' careful chaperonage, and ran away with him. Mr. Brocklehurst frightened us all with sermons on the damnation of young souls who abandoned their protectors for pleasures of the flesh. But when Maria's body was discovered at a crossroads outside the village, I knew. She hadn't abandoned Lowood for a boy that she'd only seen at church. She'd been taken by the huntsmen. She might have even asked to ride with them, wanting to go to a place where she could be warm and eat proper food and not have to fear a whipping if she made a mistake.

I prayed heartily for Maria's soul, hoping first that she had died quickly and found God's grace, then, if that was not possible, that she was happy with the huntsmen. Even at the tender age of ten, I knew that I was not responsible for her death, though I had encouraged the hunters to find a prettier girl than I. They would have taken someone and, despite the hardships of Lowood, I was determined that it would not be me.

But I still remember that meeting on a foggy road. Sometimes I dream of the wild hunt, wishing that I might meet them again and wondering if they've added another beautiful girl to their ranks.

oOoOo

A/N: The Wild Hunt is a European myth that I first encountered when I was reading _The Mabinogi_. There are infinite versions of the story, but they tend to share some common traits: A band of horsemen with their hounds, riding over the countryside, often on Halloween night, searching for lost souls. Usually they are led by a god- Woden is a common leader- or perhaps a king. Usually, the hounds are black, but in _The Mabinogi_ , the hunt is led by Annwn, the Welsh god of the Otherworld, whose hounds are white with red ears. In Celtic mythology, red is associated with death and white is associated with religion and the gods. I've adapted the many variations of The Wild Hunt to suit the world of Jane Eyre, a story in which, despite its deep religious tones, there are many depictions of non-Christian mysticism. I hope you enjoyed it.


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